


Dance and Destruction

by dreamiflame



Category: The Sandman
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Yuletide 2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-17
Updated: 2004-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:24:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/pseuds/dreamiflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know, she still really loved him. Even as she went, he was <i>all</i> she was thinking of. I could <i>feel</i> it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance and Destruction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lisan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisan/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta.

She danced, and she remembered.

Ishtar first met him when war came to her land, to Babylon. She saw him across the field of battle, big, laughing, bearded giant of a man, and none of her soldiers seemed to see him, though he stood in their midst. During the fighting, his face remained hidden behind the metal of his helm, but somehow, she knew him, knew that this was someone important. Someone like a god, but more.

He swung his great sword with ease, like the rest of them, though not at any one foe, and men fell, screaming, before it. Ishtar was there as goddess of war (as opposed to her other role of goddess of love and sex) , but she watched the armored man, and not her troops. He was familiar, his motions, his laugh, all called to her, as though she had seen him before. Perhaps in a dream, she thought idly, and knew at once no, that was wrong. Not a dream.

When the fighting ended, the man let his sword drop and leaned upon it, resting. Soldiers from both sides were screaming yet, pleas for mercy, for death, for life, prayers to her, Ishtar, great goddess, thanking her for her aid. Ishtar straightened her shoulders and drank up the praise, the power, all the time her eyes resting upon the strange man with the equally strange armor.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Ishtar glimpsed another stranger, a woman with very pale skin and dark clothes, who seemed to be everywhere at once, everywhere men lay dead or dying. For a moment only, Ishtar wondered at her, trying to catch a true look at her, then the man with the sword stirred himself and lifted off his helmet.

He was beautiful, to match the fluidness of his motions. His hair and beard were red and thick and Ishtar was drawn to him, across the field littered with fallen men, weapons and blood. She did not know that he saw her until she stood before him and he bowed, smiling, a twinkle in his eye.

"My lady Ishtar," he boomed, greeting her, and took her hand, kissing the back of it softly. His beard was slightly scratchy against her skin, but it was not unpleasant, and Ishtar was not easily repulsed. She had known many men, old, young, passionate, dull, strong, weak, men with all colors of hair and skin and eye, and yet, she had never seen one such as him.

He had been looking at her for some time, hand still holding her, fingers gentle and warm on her own, before she smiled at him. His hand was much bigger than hers, but Ishtar was not afraid of him, nor of his touch. "Your lady?" she asked, and he laughed, the sound warming her more than the sun. "And what is your name, Great Lord, who would claim me for his own?"

"I am Destruction," he said simply, as though that explained everything. In a way, it did. Destruction, of the Endless, those who were older than gods and were never mortal. Seven beings whose names were the same as their functions.

Ishtar knew of them, some better than others. All gods knew of them, though not all knew them personally. But the world was young yet, and things changed easily and swiftly.

Perhaps Ishtar had been in love with him from the moment he appeared on her battlefield, perhaps since he had removed his helmet and kissed her hand. Perhaps before then, when she had seen him at the occasion of a collapse in one of her temples, or the smashing of an entire cart of pottery. No matter. She was in love, and when a love goddess loved, she loved with all her being. It was for this reason that Ishtar has never had a lover above forty years. Her passion was too strong, her love too intense. Men burnt themselves up for her, and died, spent, empty shells of who they had once been.

Not so with Destruction. He was strong, and fit, and almost more powerful than Ishtar could conceive. They made love for hours, for days sometimes, and Ishtar was happy. Despite his function, Destruction was kind to her, and gentle.

It was not a perfect relationship, for what relationship is perfect? Ishtar had her worshipers, her followers and her priestesses, and the sacred kings who died for the pleasure of watching her dance. Destruction had his responsibilities, and his realm.

And his family.

To love an Endless, Ishtar learned, was to meet all of them, all seven. Destruction was of the Endless and thus had six siblings, three sisters, two brothers, and one who was both sister and brother. On one memorable occasion, Ishtar met all of them at once, when the family was gathered together for some reason she could never quite recall.

There was Destiny, the eldest, who looked at her with unseeing eyes and read from the book chained to his wrist in a voice that spoke of eternity, and fate. There was Death, sparkling and friendly, the pale strange woman who had gathered the souls from the battle on the day Ishtar had met Destruction. There were the twins, Desire, with its tawny eyes and silky voice, as familiar to Ishtar as her own reflection, and Despair, Desire's squat twin, who spoke in a voice like dead things rotting in dank pools. There was Delirium, whom Ishtar could not help feeling sorry for, though the girl-child appearance belied the truth of how much older than herself Delirium was. And there was Dream.

Dream, who had cold eyes like a night sky filled with stars, and who looked upon Ishtar with distaste. She knew the Dream King, had been born in his realm and walked into the waking world, as all gods do, and have, and will always, and one day, Ishtar knew she would return to his realm, when those who worshiped her faltered, lost faith, and fell silent. Still, the scorn and jealousy in his pupil less eyes made her shrink back, almost afraid. She thought at first Dream was displeased that she had chosen his younger brother over him, though he had never indicated that he was interested, but the notion soon passed. 

He spoke to her once, in a voice as cold as his eyes. "You are a bad influence on my brother, Lady Ishtar," he said. Her protest fell upon deaf ears, and from that moment on, whenever she was with Destruction, Dream paid her no mind. He was cruel, she thought, for her love for his brother was strong and deep and true, and it mattered not at all to Dream.

In a way, it was Dream's fault that her romance with Destruction died. They fought, some, over his work, and his family, and over time, the fights grew worse. One day they argued, the same argument they had already had a dozen times, maybe more, word for word. Perhaps the pauses were longer, perhaps one or two things were phrased slightly differently, but they fought, and when they had finished, Ishtar looked into Destruction's eyes and knew it was over. It was as simple as that, and as complicated. At once easy and hard, it hurt, it hurt more than anything Ishtar had ever known.

She never stopped loving Destruction. Centuries later, when time and space and the world had changed again, and Babylon was nothing more than a name in dusty old books, and Destruction had given up his realm long ago, Ishtar danced her final dance, and thought of him. The power grew inside of her, torn from the men watching her, no longer as bored as they had been, as they never would be again. The power grew, and Ishtar danced, thinking of her lost love. She danced until the building fell upon her, upon them all, and they were all buried, lost beneath the rubble, and Ishtar looked up into the face of Destruction's elder sister.

"Hello," Death said, and smiled, and Ishtar, who could not smile, not yet, perhaps not ever, not in the small amount of time left to her, took her hand and let Death draw her to her feet. "That was some dance." Ishtar nodded, grateful, though lacking words to say so, and followed Death, walking back into dreams, where she had come from. In the end, she thought, it all came back to dreams. Dreams of mortal men had made her, and Dream of the Endless had helped to destroy her. But there were things she could see now, beyond the pale shadow of life she had clung to. There was the future, and she saw the fate approaching the Dream King. He sought his brother. He sought change, though he resisted it. Ishtar moved through dreams, not knowing where she was going, and no longer afraid.


End file.
